


Beautiful Disaster

by ArgentGale



Category: Bloodline (TV 2015), Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward first time sex, Blow Jobs, Casual Sex, Crack AU, Crack Fic, Drug Use, M/M, Messed up SW/Bloodline crossover AU, Orson Krennic makes some very bad choices, Orson goes on vacation to escape problems and encounters more problems, alchol use, bad office affairs, blacking out and waking up in bed with a stranger, garbage fic, just because you can doesn't mean you should, neck deep in trash, please sit with me in my Ben Mendelsohn garbage heap, why orson?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 06:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10656483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentGale/pseuds/ArgentGale
Summary: Orson Krennic is an architect in a well-respected architectural firm located in Miami.  His passionate affair with Galen Erso has come to a crashing end. He makes many, many bad choices which include excessive drinking, drug use, whoring around. The final straw comes when he decides to start fucking his partner, Wilhuff Tarkin. After that affair ends, Tarkin not to gently suggests that Orson perhaps take a nice vacation away from it all to clear his head.Sounds like a lovely idea.  What possibly could go wrong at a quiet beach resort located in the Keys?Danny Rayburn. That's what.Orson Krennic makes bad choices 2k17





	Beautiful Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> First of all I want to stress this is pure crack. Sometimes when I am bored, I will sit and try to think up the most fucked up AU idea that I can. That is how this story was born. I am not going to lie, I have no clue how this is going to go. I have six chapters outlined. Can I make it work? Who knows? It is just a fun experiment and if you wish to join me in this craziness *pats seat* hop on.

Orson’s head throbbed in time with each heartbeat as he punched the call button for the elevator.  The two naproxen tablets with a triple shot expresso chaser had yet to take effect and the slightest movement was rewarded with a tiny explosion of white hot shards of pain behind his eyes.

Orson’s breath hissed over his teeth. He was getting too fucking old for this. The cocktails after work that bled into an extremely late evening which in turn had made him sleep through his alarm causing him to be late.  Again. 

He angrily stabbed his finger at the call button, as if the aggressive action would somehow intimidate the elevator into arriving sooner.  He was late but he wasn’t _that_ late.  Not yet anyway although it was now well past 9:00 and he had seen Wil’s sleek Jaguar already neatly parked in its reserved spot in the lot.

Knowing Wil, the old wolf was probably up there at this very moment watching the door and waiting to pounce.

A soft, pleasant chime announced the elevator’s arrival and Orson barely let the doors part before stepping inside.  As the elevator began its ascent Orson’s stomach churned.   He would see _him_ today. The reason for last evening’s late night drinking session.

It had been very nearly a month since Orson had to deal with directly interacting with him and yet it was not quite long enough.  

Still thought of seeing him again brought a tired ache to Orson’s chest. A sour dryness to his mouth.

Galen.

Without realizing he was doing it Orson gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw so tight the muscles began to twitch.

He wondered if Lyra would also be in attendance.  She sometimes tagged along, like an annoying little shadow.   Krennic absentmindedly gnawed at his thumb as he stewed. Galen and that mousy little wife of his. 

As the elevator continued its smooth ascent to the 20th floor, Orson’s mind dredged up how Galen had dropped that little bomb of his marriage to Lyra.

Orson didn’t _want_ to remember but his brain had other ideas and kindly replayed the scenario back for him in crisp detail.  Just in case he had forgotten the sordid details of how his life and gone to complete and utter shit in the span of a year.  

He remembered how it all began with Galen snagging a temporary position teaching at Berkley. How this stint was only to be a temporary engagement. “I’ll only be gone for a few months, back before you know it,” he had soothed as Orson had lay curled around the warmth of Galen’s body, his arms wrapped tight in a possessive embrace.  Perhaps subconsciously Orson thought that if perhaps he held on just tight enough, Galen would skip that 11:30 flight, forget about that silly teaching commitment, and stay in Miami. Stay with _him_. Where he belonged. 

Rather than voice his true concerns and fears, Orson had only laughed away his unease.  “I won’t be able to keep an eye on you.”  Although his tone was light even joking, it held a tremulous edge of uncertainty and doubt.   

Thinking back Orson thought perhaps if he had given voice to his fears, allowed the façade of control to slip for just a moment, maybe Galen would have reconsidered his decision and stayed.

The bitter truth of it all was that although Orson’s relationship with Galen had its good moments it was, at its core, festering.  Their affair had managed to rouse and stir an ugly, and rather uncharacteristic, possessiveness in Orson that had never been an issue previously.  As far as relationships went (and Orson had had many) the approach was more of a casual take it or leave it, stay or go, attitude.  However, the one common theme in all of Orson Krennic’s dalliances were that they served a _purpose_.  Whether that purpose was fucking his professor to achieve a more favorable grade or spending time with a wealthy, older attorney who had no objection in helping Orson make his rent in exchange for his time and company.

As long as the relationship served his purpose he was fine with it. Once he had no further need, he would move on without a second thought.

The purpose of his relationship with Galen was control and validation. Galen’s softness and gentle nature was a counterbalance to Krennic’s selfishness and harshness.  Deep down Orson knew it was wrong. That it was twisted and strange and most definitely not healthy and yet Orson could not help himself. 

Of course Galen had caught his flight. Went to California.  Galen’s absence was painful but the absence was soothed by visits.  There were nightly phone calls every evening that went long into the night as Orson let Galen happily gush about his life out west and on campus.  Galen sent little gifts sent in the mail accompanied by notes that were brief by heartfelt: _I can’t wait to see you again, Orson.  I miss you._

And then, almost without Orson noticing, the phone calls grew more sporadic and when they occurred there was a strange undercurrent of tension that Orson could not quite place.  The conversation that once flowed easily became stilted and forced. Awkward.  Then the excuses started.

_“Sorry I was busy and lost track of the time.”_

_“Sorry, I fell asleep.”_

_“I have been so busy. We’ll catch up soon, I swear.”_

And then, finally after about six months after Galen left, the phone calls ceased entirely with no explanation.  Orson’s calls went directly to voicemail and were never returned. Emails went for days unanswered. Orson’s gifts went unacknowledged.

It was as if their relationship was a mere figment of Orson’s imagination.

As he remembered, Orson gritted his teeth.  That was what stung the most.  The lack of closure. How it had just…ceased to be.

The worst of it wasn’t that the relationship had withered and died with no explanation.

No.

What dug at Orson the most was that killing a relationship was _Orson’s_ job. _He_ decided when the bloom was off of the rose.  _He_ decided when to coldly cease contact. _He_ decided when they ended.

Then, completely out of the blue and almost exactly one year to the day when Galen had departed, there was an email. Brief, cheerful, and upbeat and it had completely and utterly took the wind out of Orson’s collective sails.

_Orson, I hope this finds you well.  First I want to say that I am sorry my communications with you ceased so abruptly.  Things just got a bit out of hand and I apologize that our relationship had to suffer for it._

_In any event, I just wanted to let you know I will be returning to Miami next Wednesday.  Hard to believe this little adventure stretched to a full year.   I have been in communication with Wil and he informed me I am welcome to continue working with the firm._

_I do look forward to catching up with you and I confess I have a bit of news.  I just to let you know, to prepare you so it isn’t **too** much of a shock but I am happy to announce that I got married.  Her name is Lyra and she is an absolute treasure.  You will love her. I told her all about you. _

_It is a whirlwind of a story and I will share all of the details next week at dinner with you and Wil._

_Orson I realize this is quite a bit to absorb.  Please do not be too angry with me._

_See you soon,_

_G._

It was all Orson could do to refrain from tossing his laptop across the room.

There was no explanation nor even a true apology.  It was as if Galen had expected Orson to just buck up and accept the fact that not only had Galen not only completely abandoned Orson but cast him aside and found himself a _wife_ of all things.  Galen Erso with a fucking _wife_?   Like Orson, Galen had dated women before but the affairs never lasted as the women grew annoyed with Galen’s tendency to focus on and nurture his work, leaving romance to wilt and wither.   

And he had been speaking to _Wil_? Wil had not breathed one word of it.

Orson remembered how his hands then began to shake. How he had trembled with rage and hurt.  How he had felt the sour burn of acid in his throat, barely making it to the toilet to throw up, his entire body heaving and retching.

How his mind raged and swirled, emotions shifting from sorrow to disbelief to flat out rage.

How _dare_ he?  How fucking dare Galen Erso treat what they had like it was nothing?  It was as if Orson, and what they had, was just a footnote in Galen’s life. An entertaining dalliance before Galen had obtained what he had _actually_ wanted.

And then of course that dinner was nothing short of a disaster.  Orson’s heart lurched and seemed to shatter upon seeing Galen.  Watching as Galen had laughed and pulled that mousy woman close to his side, his eyes brimming with adoration every time he looked upon her.  Galen’s voice was thick with emotion as he had regaled Orson and Wil with stories from his time at Berkley. Visits to San Francisco.  Meeting Lyra. Their whirlwind courtship and marriage.  Hoisting his wineglass, Galen’s eyes shone with emotion as he looked at Lyra. “I just knew she was it. She was the one. My missing piece.  I knew within three days I would ask her to marry me.”

 _That look was once for me_. Orson had seethed, holding the stem of his own wineglass with such ferocity his knuckles turned white.

He decided at that moment he hated Lyra with the same passion he had once felt for Galen. All-encompassing and consuming. 

And yet to anyone observing their first meeting, Orson presented as civil and kind even go as far as graciously taking Lyra’s hand in his to give it a dramatic kiss. Lyra’s cheeks had flushed pink as she averted her eyes at his overt display.

"I am so happy to meet you Orson. Galen has told me so much about you. He went on and on about your talent.  Your designs.  I’d love to see some of your projects.”

Galen had only laughed at Orson’s enthusiastic display.

“Oh Orson. Always so dramatic.  Don’t let him fool you.  He is no gentleman.”

_Indeed._

Orson only gave a tight smile as a response.

The real drama was in the weeks afterwards.  Krennic begging for an explanation. For an apology. For closure.   His voice teetering on hysterical.

Galen, never one for confrontation, had artfully dodged Orson. Avoiding him by falling headlong into his projects.

Finally, after Orson had succeeded in cornering Galen in his office, slamming the door shut threatening to make a scene right there in the firm,  had Galen relented and agreed to discuss what had happened.

He remembered how tired Galen’s eyes had looked. _No._ Orson corrected himself.  _Not tired.  They were full of pity. Pity and guilt._

“I am sorry, Orson. I…I really should have ended things before I left.  I just didn’t have to courage to let you go.”

_Let him go?  Like an employee that had ceased to perform up to expectation?_

“So then it was all lies?” Orson had spat, hating his loss of control.  Hating that Galen Erso was the only person that had managed the honor of being only person in Orson’s history to end a relationship before Orson deemed it was finished.

Galen’s eyes darted to the closed door before meeting Orson’s icy gaze.

“It was at its end. I felt…a genuine affection for you, please know that. But it was fading. It would have never lasted. We both know this. We are two very different creatures.  You just aren’t…the relationship type. I needed something more. Something substantial. Someone like…Lyra.”

What transpired afterwards was a blank. Orson had no recollection of leaving his office that day.

After Galen’s dismissal, the drinking began.  Well, drinking and other destructive behaviors not conducive to a productive work ethic.  Orson began drinking heavily. Then there were the occasional lines of coke.  He had tried to convince himself the drugs were just to get himself going after a long night of drinking.  He found himself fucking any warm body decided to share his bed for that particular evening, often waking up to a stranger (both male and female) that he had zero recollection of meeting and could not begin to put a name to.  He always ushered them out of his townhouse with gushing assurances that he usually did not do this type of thing and he would definitely like to see them again.   

The grand finale of poor choices was his decision to begin fucking Wilhuff. _Oh yes_ , Orson ruefully mused. _That was the coup de grace of poor choices._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

One does not wake up in the morning and muse to oneself, “I am going to fuck up my life today.”

As poor choices often begin, this one began with a clusterfuck of a dissatisfied client who had refused to budge on specs and no matter how Orson tried, he could not find a way to please. The client absolutely insisted on a solar room even though it would be virtually impossible to hammer one into the design Orson had initially presented, and the client had approved.

“I am sorry. It does not work with the aesthetic.  It would be ham fisted and forced.  It breaks up the flow from the great room to the main dining room area.”  Orson managed to maintain an even tone but his patience was at its end.

The client, and old stodgy investment banker, had merely sniffed, blinked his rheumy eyes and spat, “Make it happen or you are fired and I will tell it far and wide that you are inept, of no talent, and your firm is keen on leading their clientele on and then not delivering as promised.”  He puffed up like an old toad trying to intimidate.

 _You signed off on the fucking plans._ Orson had inwardly seethed.

Orson finally had relented and agreed to rework the entire house to accommodate the client’s wishes. Weeks and weeks of work gone in an instant. All because this asshole wanted a room to stick his exotic plant collection.

Later that evening after the rest of the staff had gone home for the day, he had found himself in Wil’s office sharing the trials of his day.

Wilhuff Tarkin was a severe man, not often prone to casual conversation and sharing drinks with his coworkers.  However, on this particular evening, after a few shots silky smooth Glenmorangie, Wil was rather chatty and engaging.  Orson found himself actually _enjoying_ Wil’s company as they talked and laughed and knocked back shot after shot of the fine scotch.  And as things often do, one thing had led to another and the next thing he knew, Orson found himself kissing Wil hard.  And Wil was kissing back with equal fervor.

Thus was the beginning of a disastrous affair that spanned 3 months.

The elevator jolted slightly upon reaching its destination and offered yet another soft, cheerful chime.

As Orson tried to stealthily slink back to his office, he caught the eye of the firm’s office manager who immediately shot Orson a look, grimaced, and then shook her head mouthing, “Wil wants you in his office immediately.”

Almost concurrently Wil’s voice came from his office, “Orson how nice of you to grace us with your presence today.  Might I see you in my office please?”  Tarkin’s tone was smooth and even but held a glacial edge to it.

Fuck.

 

 

 

 

Orson stood with nerves stretched thin and his head still pounding, in Wil’s office feeling like an errant child brought to the principal’s office.

Orson’s mind churned like a rat on a wheel.  If Wil wished to terminate the partnership, he would not be the least bit surprised. And he would not blame Wil. Not one bit.

Heaving a sigh he raked his fingers through his hair. 

Wilhuff Tarkin’s office was a direct reflection of the man. Sparsely, yet elegantly, decorated. The décor did not shout but quietly commanded respect in its tones of blues and steel grey.  There was the light scent of tobacco and drafting papers permeating throughout. The surroundings seemed more fitting for an office in, say, London and not here in the bright noise and crash of Miami.  Orson had often wondered why it was that Wil had continued to stay here in Miami.  He seemed out of place in such a bright, loud city.  It seemed he would be more at home in a city cloaked in fog and damp, steeped in a stately civility.

Wil motioned for Orson to take a seat. 

Wil did not speak.  He sat perched forward with his elbows on the teakwood desk, fingers steepled.   His lips were pressed into a tight line and his eyes met Orson’s with an almost tired resignation. _Here we are again,_ they seemed to say.  Orson noted that Wil had was not wearing a tie today (as it was Friday) and his crisp Hermes shirt lay open revealing the pale ivory of Wil’s skin.

“Orson,” Wil ventured. He paused and it seemed he was taking great care choose his words very carefully. Finally he continued, his voice soft, tender even.   “Is everything alright?  More and more I have noticed, well how can I say this, lapses in your performance.  You are here and yet…you really are not.”  Tarkin then straightened in his chair, shaking his head slightly. “Again you arrive late and you know we need to meet with Galen and a few of the environmental engineers to go over the mechanical drawings.  The client is expecting them to be messengered over this afternoon and they need approved and signed off on.  The developer wants to break ground in three weeks.  And yet here you are waltzing in, and I am going to say rather hungover judging by your bloodshot eyes, over an hour late.”

“I am fine. Really.”

“Cal, you look like hell.”

Hearing Wil address him as “Cal” sucked the wind out of Orson. He had only called him that when they had been involved. Laying in bed after fucking with the light casting slanted shadows on their nude bodies. Wil’s finger lazing down Orson’s flank, barely touching him and yet burning a searing path down his flesh. The smell of lavender on the linens rising in the warm air.

“I am going to say this not as your superior but as your friend.  I have mulled it over and think it would be best if perhaps you took some time off. This past holiday, a client graciously gifted me a week’s stay at this little resort down in the Keys.  Called the Rayburn House.  I have no desire to go there, what with work commitments being far too pressing.  However, I do believe it would do you a world of good for you to take advantage.  I want you to take it.”

The words stung. “You want to get rid of me then?”

How convenient. Send Orson away and assume control of his projects under the guise of concern for his well-being.

Wil blinked. “No. If I wanted to get rid of you I would simply fire you.” Wil then smiled thinly.  “You are a brilliant architect and when you are on point you bring an energy to this firm that is hard to capture.  We work well together. Yes, we do not always see eye to eye on design points and what the client is looking for or needs.  But…you challenge me Cal. You always did.  I admire that about you. Truly.”

Wilhuff paused for a few heartbeats, weighing his next words carefully.

“I am worried about you. You haven’t been very discrete in your…activities. I can let some things slide but when it starts marring the integrity of the firm, well,” Tarkin leaned forward, “I simply cannot allow that.”

Orson said nothing.  He knew what Wilhuff was saying was true. Any rebuttal would only serve to piss him off further.

Wilhuff sighed heavily.  “I know this past year has been a bit of a trial for you.  I realize that I contributed to this and this is why I am offering you this option. Anybody else pull these little stunts and I would have let them go.”  Wil paused once more and the silence lay heavy. 

 _Anybody else._ Orson mused _.  Meaning if we hadn’t fucked I would be out on my ass right now. Lucky me._

“I appreciate your consideration of my well-being.”  Orson tried to keep his tone cool and even but a hint of acidic sarcasm still managed to tinge his words.

Wilhuff pursed his lips before forging on.

“Orson, I feel a little mental break will do you a world of good.  A…leave of absence if you will.”

Orson huffed. “Really?  A leave.  To get me out of the way. So you can take control of my various projects? “

Wil leaned back in his seat, lips compressed, the skin around his eyes tightening.

“How could you even suggest that, Orson?  I am offering you a way to…clear your head. Reorganize your priorities a bit and perhaps even get your life back on course and you are throwing an accusation such as this?”

The words stung and Orson visibly flinched.

“Of course not. I apologize.”

“Your work and your projects will be waiting for you. If any of your clients inquire they will be informed that you are on a vacation and will address their concerns immediately upon your return.”

Wil leaned forward, “I am going suggest you begin your little trip immediately. In fact, I will personally contact the owners to inform them of your arrival.”

Orson looked at Wil with a stunned expression.

“And what if there are no rooms available? On such short notice?”

Wilhuff smiled tightly before responding, “Oh don’t worry.  There will be a room for you.”

Orson got the distinct feeling that Wil had already taken it upon himself to arrange this little getaway for him.

“Fine. Fine if you insist I will do this. But only a week. That is all I need to clear my head.”

“If it were up to me I’d have you take a month.”

Orson barked a sharp laugh.  “Of course you would.”

“If you leave now you can be there by early afternoon. Be sitting on the beach with a cocktail. Unwind. Forget. Heal.  Cal…I know you have been hurting.”  Wil’s voice then softened.  “I am sorry things did not work out between us. Really did you think it would?  What we had was a distraction. Nothing more.”

Orson rose from his seat.  “Well I am glad to have provided you with such a distraction.”

He then took his leave with bitterness churning in his gut.  

Bitterness and regret.

He hated to admit it but Wil was right. Perhaps a week off wasn’t such a bad idea.  A chance to get away from all of his bad choices and heartache.  

What could the Rayburn House possibly offer besides surf and sand and quiet?  Probably full of old people doddering around.  Shuffleboard. Zero opportunity for trouble. Zero temptation.

As the elevator delivered him to the lobby he found his headache was gone and his outlook was somewhat improved.

Yes.  A week away from the firm and Galen and Wil would be perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> So what did you think? Messed up? Yeah it is messed up. But if you got this far I hope it means you ENJOYED the messed up.


End file.
